


A Prisoner In The Cage Of Her Skull

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Geas Spell, Gen, Mind Control, Spoilers Through Episode 69 of Campaign 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 01:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Yasha’s consciousness, her thoughts and hopes and memories, watches everything through the windows of her eyes. Watches as the Laughing Hand breaks free of the temple, of its prison, and walks off to fill its own agenda. Her body does not follow. Her body, her anger, her instincts, those all walk another path as Yasha struggles against the chains that bind her, the golden, burning words that are wrapped around her mind and her heart.Avenge me.





	A Prisoner In The Cage Of Her Skull

**Author's Note:**

> If you've come here looking for comfort, I'm sorry. That's another fic for another day. Soon though. Soon.

Yasha’s body walks alone towards Bazzoxan, a cloth covering their mouth and nose to keep out the worst of the dust from the constant storms, the sand goggles they had purchased in the military outpost days before keeping the rain of grit clear of her eyes. The sandstorms make it hard to track her quarry, and they’ll be well ahead of her because of their riding beasts, but she knows where they’re going, for the first leg of their journey at least. Bazzoxan first, then most likely back to their home in Xhorhas. She’ll find them. Wherever they go, however long it takes, she will find them.

_Avenge me._ The command is a burning pulse at the base of her skull, as steady as her footsteps and the rhythm of her heart. _Avenge me avenge me avenge me._

Yasha’s body walks on.

————————

Yasha’s consciousness, her thoughts and hopes and memories, watches everything through the windows of her eyes. Watches as the Laughing Hand breaks free of the temple, of its prison, and walks off to fill its own agenda. Her body does not follow. Her body, her anger, her instincts, those all walk another path as Yasha struggles against the chains that bind her, the golden, burning words that are wrapped around her mind and her heart. _Avenge me._

For a moment, just a moment, as her mind had struggled and screamed in the early hours of her freedom from the the temple, her body had paused in its pursuit, had almost turned away. And then there had been pain, burning searing agony as the chains had tightened around her, her awareness of what her body was doing fading as everything went white and then black. When Yasha’s awareness had returned to her, when she had been able to look out of her eyes again, she could tell that hours had passed, and her body had continued walking on without her.

The only reprieve Yasha gets from the slow horror of watching her body move without her volition is when the body needs to sleep. There is a small comfort in that. Every moment she is not walking gives her more time for her friends to get away. She prays they’re running from her. She prays they’ll keep running.

In the darkness of her mind, memories appear before her like scenes in a play.

_“What do we have here?”_

_Yasha manages to raise her head, thirst and hunger making her vision hazy, and for a moment she is sure that the red skinned demon in front of her is just another hallucination, maybe the last one she’ll ever have. Still, her hand moves towards her sword as she struggles to get to her feet._

_“None of that now,” the demon says gently, and his voice is warm, soothing, his eyes shining like the embers of a campfire. “Let me help you up.”_

Yasha watches as her past self lets her hand fall from the hilt of her sword, as she lets the demon help her to her feet. Had that been magic, then? Had that been her?

_They’re sitting around a fire, Yasha and the others, zealots and warriors all, united, their attention fixed on Obann, who stands in the middle of them, speaking with passion and conviction._

_“Anger is a weapon that can be more powerful than any sword,” Obann says, and Yasha feels like he’s saying it just to her. “It only grows sharper with use. Let it guide your actions, let it drive you onward, let it cut down any who stand against you.”_

Yasha watches her past self nod and smile. Had that been the magic of compulsion? Or had that just been Obann telling her what she had wanted to hear? That it was all right to be angry, _good_ to be angry, that her rage at herself, at her tribe, those were all things she should indulge in, should use to give her strength?

All this time Yasha has wanted to know what she had done during the time she couldn’t remember, and now that she knows all she wants to do is forget, to stop having the memories flash in front of her, to stop wondering if her past actions had been manipulated by magic or if it had been her own anger that had driven her. Had the Stormlord taken those memories from her as a gift, the dreams she had been having revealing the truth slowly so that it would be easier to bear? Or had she been the one to bury them out of guilt and shame?

_“The truth is vicious,” Molly’s eyes flash as he looks at them all. “The truth thinks you owe it something.”_

Yasha can never be glad that Molly is gone (because that’s her fault too, if she had fought harder, if she had been stronger, if she had escaped—) but she’s glad that he hadn’t been there down in the tomb, hadn’t been there for her sword to find after Obann’s words had seared into her mind. He wouldn’t have left her, she knows that. She would have killed him, she knows that too. It would have been his blood on her sword, not Fjord’s.

_Fjord looks at her, blood dripping down his arms, his legs, his chest, blood falling from his lips when he speaks, his yellow eyes full of a hurt that has nothing to do with the physical wounds she has dealt him. “Why?”_

_The second blow goes wide, but that look in his eyes tells her that she’s already killed a piece of him, carved away the part of him that trusted her._

_“I heard you,” she says, and it is not an answer._

“Please stop,” Yasha whispers. She thinks her body sleeps, but there is no rest for her mind, for her _self_.

_Nott’s hands tremble in the dark. “When I’m scared, I think of the worst thing that could happen.”_

_Yasha thinks about the Iron Shepherds, about chains, about instruments laid out on tables and trays._

_“What if they just tortured us for years and years and then we died?”_

Yasha sees the days stretching out before her, her body pursuing the task that she’s been given even as the rest of her prays that she never sees her friends again for fear of what she’ll be made to do to them. She thinks of the nights without rest, memories playing before her, doubt setting in. Had she been in control of herself, before, when she had killed all those people? Physical torture she could withstand, but this? This doubt? This was worse.

“Yasha?” Jester’s voice is a whisper, small and fragile.

**_“YASHA!!”_** _Jester’s voice is a wail loud enough to break Yasha’s heart as the doors close between them._

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Jester continues and her voice, carried by magic, sounds as if it’s on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry we left you down there and we’re going to come back I promise—

_In her dreams, Yasha turns over a corpse and it’s Molly, eyes open and staring at her. Beyond Molly is Caleb. Beyond Caleb is Caduceus. Beyond Caduceus is Fjord. Beyond Fjord is Nott. Beyond Nott is Beau. Beyond Beau is Jester. Beyond Jester is Zuala. Beyond Zuala is a sea of bodies, an ocean of blood and she is drowning—_

“Stay away!” Yasha screams, and she doesn’t know how this magic works exactly, doesn’t know if Jester will be able to hear her. “Please just stay away! I don’t want to hurt you! He’ll make me hurt you! Just run! Jester, please don’t come! I’m sorry!”

——————————

Yasha’s body twitches restlessly in their sleep, like an animal having bad dreams. A single tear wells out of the corner of her eye and rolls down her cheek, leaving a trail in the dust on her face. When her lips part a moment later, what emerges is softer than a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, episode 69. That was... that was something all right.
> 
> *quietly weeps in Celestial.*
> 
> For the purposes of this fic I'm assuming Yasha is under the influence of the Geas spell. Fun facts: Depending on the level it's cast at, the spell can last anywhere from a month to however long it takes to fulfill the Geas. So you know, potentially years. It can be removed by Greater Restoration, Remove Curse, and Wish. If the target acts in a manner counter to their instructions, they take 5d10 psychic damage. That's fine. This is fine.
> 
> (It is not fine.)
> 
> If you liked this fic please kudos and/or comment, either goes a *very* long way in helping me stay motivated. I'm angel_ascending on Tumblr and angel_in_ink on Twitter if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


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